


Tugged Loose

by IsleofSolitude



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), First Time, Gift Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24473950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsleofSolitude/pseuds/IsleofSolitude
Summary: They ironed out their plan of being godfathers, and then things...went off track and unsaid things slipped out.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72
Collections: Promptposal





	Tugged Loose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pyracantha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyracantha/gifts).



> This is set after "well I'll be damned/not that bad once you get used to it"

It took two and a half bottles of wine to iron out their plan–dubiously dubbed Anti Antichrist–and another bottle to agree on their covers.

It took sobering up for Crowley to throw them off balance, interrupting their discussion about the pros and cons of yet another human invention, when the subject was abruptly switched.

“So, c’mon angel, what would you regret most?”

“I thought we talked about that earlier.”

Crowley flapped his hands. “Nah, the food and the music and all the little arts and stuff, that’s stuff you’ll miss. But what would you regret?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Oh, I don’t know…”

Groaning, Crowley sat up, leaned forward. “Aziraphale, c’mon, there’s gotta be something you have wanted to do and haven’t done. Like, go visit the poles or take a cruise or—swam with the orcas–”

“I thought they swam with dolphins?”

“–Not the point, what I’m saying is what would you regret if you didn’t do it before our lot decides to meet out back and throw some punches?”

Deciding the wine glasses were in need of refilling, Aziraphale started to do just that. Crowley grunted and pulled the bottle out of reach. “Leave it.”

“Crowley!”

“Nuh-uh. Not until you answer the question.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, straightening his vest, bowtie, and sleeves as he stood. “Really, Crowley, you are being absurd. Why does this even matter?”

Crowley pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“As you have stated before, and yet here you are, drinking my wine.” Aziraphale put just enough acid in his voice that anyone else would expect him to be affronted. The demon just rolled his eyes.

“Fine, I’ll go first.” He leaned forward, one hand on his knee the other clenched beside him. “I’d regret never finding out what you tasted like.”

There are moments where it feels like the entire world hangs in a balance. There are moments where the world both narrows down while also spanning years and years of history. There are moments when, whatever the aftermath will be, however much hinges on the decision one makes, one may feel themselves answering with a bone deep certainty they never expected to have when one finds out their oldest, truest friend feels the same and would regret never acting on it.

Aziraphale knows this is the only chance. When he rejects Crowley, turns him down by changing the subject and ending this night on an awkward but normal note, Crowley will understand that this is not to be brought up again. A rash question that only came out because Crowley is an impulsive survivor, someone who will preserve himself in every way except emotionally. The two of them, angel and demon, are protective, but Crowley’s instincts are to put Aziraphale first, to protect him and be near him no matter the cost.

Aziraphale cannot ever let Crowley close, for Hell and Heaven would both find it a reason to destroy him. So even while he is circled and courted and cared for, Aziraphale protects Crowley by putting distance between them–physical, emotional, mental. He protects Crowley by never letting him close. This is the first time they have stayed so long in the bookshop, of course Crowley, given an inch, would take a mile. As soon as Aziraphale gets over the audicity, he will find his voice and use it to once again save Crowley from the start of his demise, and then Crowley will leave him and they can carry on as normal while they do their jobs. There’s only one possible thing to say.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we.”

Jerking so hard he almost slipped off the couch, Crowley let out a flustered noise. He hadn’t put his sunglasses on in hours, so Aziraphale was able to see his wide eyes, gloriously wild in their shock. He stared up at the angel, mouth working furiously. “Gkangk…” It took him less than a minute to croak out “…Really?”

Courage was not a word Aziraphale would ascribe to himself on most days ending with -ay, and yet…he was apprehensive, one stroke away from flustered, but if there was one thing Aziraphale prided himself on, it was his resoluteness once a decision had been made.

“Yes. If…If we are to…” He cleared his throat. “There’s only eleven years left. I think…if it’s just one night…”

Unfurled was the only word to describe the way his beloved–oh, how it felt to call him that if only in his own private thoughts–got up from the couch and stalked towards him. “One night then?”

Aziraphale fluttered his hands, looked skyward for a brief second. “Or, well, I suppose, the rest of the night rather than all night.”

“I can work with that,” and then hands were framing his face and warm puffs of breath were the only warning he got before fine lips met his own.

He melted into it, let his hands alight on lean but strong shoulders, pushed his entire body forward, opened in every way. Crowley growled, one hand trailing to a plump waist and snaking around the back, tugging him even closer, bettering the angle.

Moments passed like that, just trading kisses, hands loathed to move from their long awaited perch. Each swipe of tongue brought a new pleasure, a new taste that Aziraphale could glut himself on for another six thousand years. Crowley’s too-long tongue left wet heat across his flushed cheeks, down his jaw–a nip at his earlobe drew a gasp, the combination of rough bites and wet kisses on his neck earned long moans.

Crowley’s mouth moved down over the fabric of Aziraphale’s shirt—he had lost his jacket several glasses ago–and mouthed at his bowtie. Before Aziraphale could get a hand up to loosen it, Crowley set his teeth to it and tugged

it

loose.

“ _Oh_.” Said Aziraphale.

There was a pleased, smug look on Crowley’s face and Aziraphale was more than okay with that. It had been effective, if the liquid that had slid down his thighs had been any indication. Very effective, considering there was molten lava still spreading through his veins. Crowley grinned up at him and finally took the hand from his face, laying the tie gently on the coffee table.

“More.” Aziraphale leaned in and took, starting with a heated kiss and ending with his hands digging into thin hips, hips that were rubbing against his and causing every nerve in his corporation to catch fire. Aziraphale bucked into him, bit his lip hard, and held Crowley still as he ground harder.

“–Ziraphale…” Crowley began walking backwards, tugging the angel with him, hands roaming all over as Aziraphale drank and drank and drank his fill from that luscious mouth. It wasn’t until Aziraphale felt his calves bump the couch that he realized something.

“Crowley, you’re ripping my shirt”

“I’ll miracle it”

“You know it won’t be the same!”

“Exactly.” Crowley’s tongue traced hot and wet against his ear as he spoke. "I’ll miracle it, and every time you wear it, you’ll remember tonight. Remember the way I marked you, how it felt to have me inside you, how my teeth felt sunk into your soft gorgeous skin.”

“Oh.” There was nothing else to do but sink down, pulling the other down on top of him. Nothing else to do but spread his legs so the demon could settle there, let Crowley pull his shirt until there was a rip that he didn’t care one _iota_ about because that talented mouth was on the revealed skin before the air was. Let his fingers pull at all of Crowley–his shirt and pants and hair and nipples and arms, mold them together until every breathe brought pleasure, every movement was made together, until their names were forgotten and it was just them, just them in love, coming apart and falling into each other.

* * *

Aziraphale was good at losing track of time. Sleeping, however, had not been something he much enjoyed. The disorientating combination of waking at some unspecified time was eased by the way he was wrapped up in the smell of sweat, wine, and incense. He was snuggled on the couch, cozy and tucked in, and he decided that beyond those facts, he was fine with not knowing. Not knowing, head in the sand—that was what Aziraphale did with after he went out of his comfort zone., thank you very much.

“Why won’t you open your eyes?” But not Crowley. No, Crowley would always ask questions. If he really was here, if…If Crowley had stayed, if Aziraphale had invited Crowley to stay…Crowley would want to know.

“I…I’ve dreamt about something like this for so long. If it’s real I want to savor it a bit more. If it’s a dream…I don’t want to wake up.”

“Oh, _angel_.” Crowley’s voice was softer than aziraphale had ever imagined.

The blonde took a deep breath and opened his eyes. A golden, new beginning was awaiting him.


End file.
